


i don't even wanna fuck, i just like you

by eversincewefellapart



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 04:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversincewefellapart/pseuds/eversincewefellapart
Summary: “What?” Sander asks. Without even watching Robbe justknowshis mouth has quirked up into that evil little smile he’s always sporting. “Never kissed anyone before?”





	i don't even wanna fuck, i just like you

**Author's Note:**

> this was never supposed to happen but then a platinum blond boy appeared and. well. btw this was written in half an hour while severely sleep deprived so forgive me. (title is from LUST by chase atlantic)

“I’ve never really done this before,” Robbe says rather dumbly. Sander smiles at him. He’s so close and Robbe wants to  _ look _ but he can’t bring himself to. His eyes are downcast to where their hands are touching, just resting on the sheets between them. The rain is pounding against the windows hard and loud and he’s thankful because it won't allow him to hear himself breathe raggedly.

“What?” Sander asks. Without even watching Robbe just  _ knows _ his mouth has quirked up into that evil little smile he’s always sporting. “Never kissed anyone before?”

Robbe closes his eyes, sighing a little frustratedly. He doesn’t want to say it but he knows Sander won’t quit until he coughs it up. “It’s not that.”

“Never kissed a  _ boy _ ?” Sander presses.

Robbe is quiet for a moment. “Not that either,” he says, and Sander shifts closer. Robbe meets his eyes then and regrets it; they’re dark and focused, searching.

“Oh,” Sander says, “you’ve kissed a guy?” Robbe nods, cheek catching against the cool plush of his pillow. Sander’s hand moves from his hip, cupping his cheek. “I’m jealous.”

Robbe’s still looking at him and he can tell that he’s not joking. It sends a little thrill up his spine and he knows that’s wrong but he can’t help it; he can’t believe he’s said something that was enough to affect Sander enough he would actually admit it. He’s so -- Robbe doesn’t know. He’s fleeting, maybe. He’s hard to read and always cocky.

Not that Robbe doesn’t like that; he does, which surprises him. No matter what Jens may crow at him he’s very fucking aware that he’s a little too introverted and awkward. It’s useful to have Sander around now, dragging Robbe out of his shell and forcing him into awkward social situations he is completely unequipped to deal with.

When Robbe had dared to daydream about a hypothetical boyfriend he’d usually think about a guy about his height who wore neutral colours and had a mop of maybe brunette hair. He’d skateboard and be chill and cool and collected and wouldn’t really pipe into conversation unless spoken to.

It’s now seeming incredibly likely that Sander will be filling in that hypothetical boyfriend spot, and he -- his looks, his hobbies, his personality -- land him all the way at the other end of the spectrum.

“Yeah,” Robbe says now. He places his hand on top of Sander’s. “You?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sander says. He’s so close now, Robbe can see specks in his eyes and the roots hidden away underneath his platinum hair. “Done a lot more too.”

Robbe feels ashamed at the combination of jealousy and intrigue that flows through him at that. “A lot more?” he asks. He hopes it’s dark enough that Sander can’t make out the flush on his face, and then remembers that Sander’s palm is pressed flat to his cheek at the moment.

“Oh, you wanna know?” Sander asks gleefully, smile growing impossibly wider. Robbe loves the way his eyes squint when he’s grinning this hard, and loves the stretch of his lips; loves the way his nose wrinkles. Loves it all. “Pervert.”

“Hey,” he protests. He’s not sure though; to one half of him, the idea of Sander touching other guys --  _ kissing  _ other guys -- makes him feel weird. He doesn’t like it, maybe because he doesn’t want to be the inexperienced of the two or maybe because he really is a more jealous person than he originally thought he was.

But the other half of him is really, really into it. He closes his eyes hard, gritting his teeth a little. It’s surprising when Sander ducks in and kisses him then.

It’s just a brief, dry touch of lips but it nearly  _ kills _ Robbe; he can’t believe this is really happening. The most beautiful boy he’s ever laid eyes on just kissed him. They’ve been lying like this for about ten minutes, impossibly close, half-turned on and discussing their past hook-ups, knowing how it all would end, and Robbe’s still surprised.

“Don’t do that, don’t close your eyes,” Sander murmurs, and Robbe opens his eyes. “Look at me.”

His knee slides in between Robbe’s and Robbe twitches. “I --” he says, bringing a hand down to fist at the soft cloth of Sander’s sweats. “-- I don’t want to go all the way, not tonight, I’m sorry.”

Sander stills. “Oh, shit,” he says and laughs nervously. “I didn’t --”

He goes to move his leg but Robbe stills him, equally nervous when he says, “this is -- this is fine. I want this.” He tacks on hastily, “if you do, of course.”

“Of course I do,” Sander says, and then leans in close. “Can I kiss you.”

“Yes,” Robbe says, “please,” and Sander does, arm slung around Robbe’s waist and pulling him in close until they’re chest to chest. His knee is still nudged between Robbe’s legs. His mouth is so warm, and his lips are so soft. 

Robbe’s only ever kissed one another guy, fleetingly, over before it even started. He’s made out with girls and can’t really remember a single one right now. He’s thought, quite vividly, about kissing Jens, which still makes him feel ashamed whenever Jens siddles up to his side in the middle of the hallways at school.

Everything has lead to this though. Sander feels so good against him -- he’s not moving, neither of them are, and yet Robbe feels like he’s never been this turned on in his life. The kiss started soft and devolved wetly when Sander pulls back to gasp in a breath of air and then returns renewed, pushing his tongue past Robbe’s teeth. Robbe is cupping Sander’s cheek, and then he’s stroking a hand through his hair, and then his hands are slipping down Sander’s flank, pressing into the small of his back. There’s only the thin and worn material of Sander’s shirt between Robbe’s fingers and skin, and Robbe distantly wishes there weren’t.

Sander pulls back again, bumping his forehead against Robbe’s. They’re both breathing hard. Robbe doesn’t care if he’s flushed and Sander can tell. He knows there’s sweat beading his forehead and his hair is probably matted against the pillow but he doesn’t care.

“Can I touch you a bit?” Sander asks. He looks so beautiful and unsure and Robbe doesn’t know how to communicate an enthusiastic  _ YES _ well enough with his brain temporarily offline, so he reaches for the waistband of his basketball shorts and pushes them down a little himself, trying to shove his hand underneath the elastic.

Sander knocks his hand away before he can make it very far. “Can I?” he mumbles, and Robbe hisses, “ _ please _ ,” so he works his fingers around Robbe’s dick. It’s dry but his hand is so warm and it still feels like single absolute greatest thing ever and Robbe’s hips still shift into his touch. He moans a little when Sander strips over him once.

“Good?” Sander asks, smiling crookedly. He can pretend to be cool and calculated but his eyes look wild, and that grin still slides away, lips twitching when Robbe palms over him. He’s so hard too.

Robbe’s never even _thought_ about doing this with boys -- the bravest he’d ever gotten was heavy make-out sessions in his daydreams. But he finds he likes it a lot more than he ever thought he could, especially when he physically feels the muscles in Sander’s leg flex at the touch.

“Wait,” Sander sighs, when Robbe presses the heel of his hand down over him harder. “Let me --”

He draws his hand back and shoves his sweats down -- or, attempts to, because half of him is smushed to the bed. It’s still enough. Robbe’s mouth goes dry as he watches Sander fist himself, stroking quickly.

Sander nudges their mouths together again but they’re not really kissing anymore, lips just pressing slack-jawed, noses bumping into each other. Robbe has a hard time keeping his eyes open, jacking himself roughly now, Sander’s body so close and radiating heat.

But he doesn’t want to take his eyes off Sander when he looks this good, curling in on himself when he comes, biting his lip as if he’s trying to keep quiet. Robbe thinks, dazedly, that one day he’ll have to make sure he can hear Sander moan through it.

He comes quickly after, because Sander’s touching him again and they’re both fumbling through it. He presses his mouth to Sander as he shakes through it because he’s too embarrassed to be the only one to moan. Sander doesn’t make anything of it; just kisses him sweetly, warmly.

It’s quiet after the roar of blood in Robbe’s ears. It’s their breathing which slowly evens out and then it’s the rhythmic lull of the rain again. Sander is petting over Robbe’s chest with his fingertips. He looks even more beautiful post-orgasm if somehow possible. Robbe watches him though half-lidded eyes, bones sagging into the mattress, dirty and tired and more content than he’s been in a while.

He finds that, oddly, he’d like to maybe become one with both Sander and the bed and stay in the exact same spot for the rest of his days. No more Jens or the boys, or the girls, or teachers or parents or anything. Just him and Sander and the rain and their come cooling on their stomachs.

It’s not possible of course, but he’s found he’s good at dreaming

“Well,” Sander whispers after a moment. “Now you’ve done just about as much as I have with a boy, huh.”

Robbe half smiles at him. “We’re even then,” he whispers back. They’re all alone in the flat but it’s all too fragile to break with their regular voices.

“We are,” Sander confirms, half-smiling back. His eyes crinkle a bit. Robbe’s never been so inconveniently exhausted; he wants to stroke his hands through that soft-looking hair and kiss the skin above Sander’s eyebrows but doesn’t have the strength to move his arms or any part of himself for that matter.

It’s silent again until Sander slides his hand across the small sliver of space between their bodies, intertwining their fingers. “Do you mind if I stay the night?” he asks, soft. 

Robbe thinks,  _ god, no, please don’t ever leave _ . He says, “no,” and then, “please stay.”

Sander smiles again, fully this time, and, in Robbe’s fatigued favour, closes the gap between their lips.


End file.
